


shed like week-old lilies

by acertainheight



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Oral Sex, Shameless Smut, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-22 00:21:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6063685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acertainheight/pseuds/acertainheight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“And second of all—” Isabela paused to drag a kiss up to right beneath her ear, teeth scraping as faint as a breath across her neck, and draped her arms over Hawke's shoulders. “—I didn't get all dressed up to waste it on this party, so why don't you stop talking and carry me to bed instead?”</i> (Or: the one where Aveline decides once and for all to never invite Isabela and Hawke to a dinner party ever again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	shed like week-old lilies

**Author's Note:**

> this was a very hasty fill for a prompt, but I've decided that it loosely fits into the aftermath of a longwinded modern AU I've been working on for... actual ages now. quite literally: over a year, on and off. it tasks me. please cross your fingers on my behalf in hopes that someday I'll get it up (sobs).
> 
> original prompt: "I just want a one shot with Hawke and Isabela in a modern day romance, in stereotypical butch and femme roles, where Isabela has Hawke wrapped around her finger."

“Isabela! Hurry up, we're going to be late!” Hawke drummed her fingers on the kitchen counter and eyed the clock. In fact, they were already late; they'd been late for twenty minutes now, and Hawke's cell was buzzing on and off with messages from Aveline: _Where r u?_ and _It's 7:15!!_ and _If I cooked this meal for u & u dont show up Ill have u arrested. _Hawke was half-worried that her doorbell would ring and she'd open it to find two of Aveline's officers waiting. If there was anyone who'd follow through on that sort of threat, it would probably be Aveline.  
  
“Isabela!”  
  
“I'm coming!”  
  
But she wasn't, and another long minute passed, long enough for Aveline to send two more furious texts for Hawke to ignore. Finally, Isabela rounded the corner—deliberate, unhurried, and utterly gorgeous. Hawke's mind, preoccupied moments ago, was suddenly blank. All she could do was stare at Isabela and try to remember how to breathe. Not an easy task.  
  
Her dress clung to every curve, dipped low in the front, and rode up on her bare thighs with each step; her necklace instantly called attention to the expanse of dark skin it spilled across. Her lipstick, a deep cranberry red, matched the dress, and her golden eyes matched her jewelry. It was the sort of thing that some might consider wildly off the mark for a quiet dinner party—but then again, those had been _Aveline's_ plans, not Isabela's, and it wasn't often that Isabela played along with Aveline's plans. Hawke's words caught in her throat, but at last she managed to get them out: “You look incredible.”  
  
“I know.” Isabela smiled, just a hint of a hungry edge to it, and strolled across the room until she had Hawke backed up against the counter. She tapped Hawke's chest with one finger and raised a brow. “And you could stand to learn a thing or two about patience, sweet thing.”  
  
Hawke swallowed. Isabela's heels brought her closer to Hawke's own height, and the fire in her eyes had the effect of lifting her another several inches. “In my defense, you did take a thousand years to get ready.”  
  
“Not all of us can pull on a jumper and call it a day.” She ran her fingers up Hawke's chest, light as a feather over the woolen sweater, and brushed tantalizingly against her throat before giving a teasing tug to the knot of her tie. “Where did you possibly find this thing? You look like you're going to a job interview. Has anyone ever told you what a party is?”  
  
“I know what a party is! I know, oh, at least ten words, probably. Even a few big ones.” She reached out and caught Isabela by the hips, pulling her closer to close the last half inch between them. “I also happen to be an expert on Aveline's parties, since I've never told horrific lies to get out of them.” A pointed lift of her brow. “We'll be surrounded by awkward cops and their awkward cop spouses, playing Pictionary all night long and listening to Donnic describe his knee pain until the wee hours of the early evening. Blending in is essential.”  
  
Isabela laughed. She leaned in as if she were about to kiss her and then tilted away at the last second. “That sounds terrible. Let's blow it off.”  
  
“We can't blow it off. This is what happens: we're a boring couple now and we have to go to boring couple parties.”  
  
Isabela's eyes flashed. “We are _not_ a boring couple.” She settled one hand on Hawke's belt buckle. “Not even a little bit.”  
  
Hawke exhaled—a fluttery, failed attempt to try and seem at least semi-collected as Isabela undid her belt and began to tug it loose. “Not even a little bit? What about last weekend when we holed up with Thai food and three seasons of—”  
  
“Oh, shut up, you goose.” Isabela laughed, breathy and not quite amused, and silenced her with a kiss.

Hawke's hands tightened on Isabela's hips, gripping her tight, and let out a hoarse gasp as Isabela pulled away only to leave a blood-red scattering of lipstick marks along her jaw and down her neck.  
  
“You... you spent eight thousand long years getting all dressed up just to stay in?”  
  
“First of all,” Isabela murmured, lips hot on Hawke's neck, “don't bother trying to be funny right now. I've decided that's more my thing. And second of all—” She paused to drag a kiss up to right beneath her ear, teeth scraping as faint as a breath across her neck, and draped her arms over Hawke's shoulders. “—I didn't get all dressed up to waste it on Aveline's dinner party, so why don't you stop talking and carry me to bed instead?”  
  
“Yes—yes ma'am.” Her buzzing phone long-forgotten, drowned out by the racing of her heart, Hawke slid her hands down to Isabela's bare thighs and then up to her ass, lifting her up, and Isabela wrapped her legs firmly around Hawke's waist, nipping at her neck as she clung to her.  
  
They stumbled through the kitchen and into the bathroom, laughing through their hungry kisses, Hawke barely managing to stay upright long enough to toss Isabela down onto the bed and climb on top of her. Hawke straddled her thigh so their legs interlocked, Isabela canting her hips upwards even as Hawke ground hers down, both of them letting out soft gasps at the exquisite friction: bodies tangled, hands roaming, mouths searching. Isabela plucked vaguely at the hem of Hawke's sweater.  
  
“Get this awful thing off,” she commanded, and Hawke complied. Isabela already had Hawke's shirt half unbuttoned by the time the sweater hit the floor. Hawke fumbled with her tie; before she could toss that to the floor, Isabela grabbed her wrist. “Bedside table.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Set it on the table,” Isabela pressed, voice strained. “So I can tie you up later.”  
  
Hawke bit back a strangled moan. “That's a very good point.” She dropped the tie on the table and, at last half-done with the labor of undressing, focused on the art of pressing kisses along her clavicle and grinding her thigh against Isabela. She could already feel how wet Isabela was, how readily she arched up against her, could feel Isabela's nails digging into her back punctuated by soft gasps of _fuck_ and _oh_  and  _Hawke_ _._  
  
“Jesus, Hawke, stop teasing,” Isabela gasped. She pushed on Hawke's shoulders and Hawke obeyed, running her hands over Isabela's dress reverently as she lowered her mouth to her thighs, the next expanse of bare skin.  
  
Hawke scattered kisses over her thighs, hard and hungry, leaving dark speckled bruises in her wake, and laughed breathlessly against her skin. “You're in a hurry tonight. What's the rush?”  
  
“Has it ever occurred to you to do something with your mouth other than talk?”  
  
Isabela tangled a hand in Hawke's hair, guiding her up, and with her other hand, she tugged her dress up higher, high enough that she could spread her legs just a little further and toss them over Hawke's shoulders. Her dress slid up to reveal nothing underneath it. Hawke paused for just a moment, breathing her in—and then Isabela roughly tugged her head forward. Hawke ran her tongue up Isabela's slick entrance, feather-light, half-teasing, until Isabela's moaning pleas and her own need pushed her forward. She parted Isabela's folds with her tongue and built a careful rhythm—slow, steady, but forceful enough that she could feel a tremor run through Isabela with the first pass of her tongue.  
  
Isabela clenched her legs around Hawke and bucked up into her with a reckless desperation that clashed with her words, still controlled despite her tightening voice: “Up. There. Harder, now. Faster. Mm, just like that, sweet thing—”

But there was no control to the jerking of her hips, her hand tight in Hawke's hair, and it didn't take long before Hawke can feel her hovering right on the brink. She pressed in harder, pairing broad strokes with narrower, tighter circles, licking and sucking on her clit, desperate to hear the first crack in Isabela's voice—

“Ah! Y-es—”  
  
_There._ Hawke dug her fingers into Isabela's soft hips, dragged her tongue over her one more time, and felt the moment where Isabela lost control completely; the motion of her hips became erratic, wild, ample thighs going vise-tight around Hawke.  
  
Hawke pulled away, her mouth going to Isabela's collarbone, her hand replacing her mouth between her legs. She brushed a finger over her swollen clit, felt a tremor, and slipped first one finger and then two into her. Isabela moaned, fingers scrabbling in the sheets for something to steady her, the aftershocks still running through her.  
  
“Don't—don't stop, fuck, f—”  
  
Hawke thrust slowly at first, cherishing the sensation of Isabela hot and clenching around her fingers, but she built up a rhythm quickly, pumping in and out of her with an eager desperate vigor. She was so wet, so tight and slick around Hawke's fingers, canting her hips forward in a rhythm to match Hawke's own.  
  
This time, it wasn't a silent tremor. A shout tore out of Isabela, an unintelligible cry, as she clenched and shook, her climax washing over her like a tidal wave. Hawke pulled back just slightly, watching her—the way her lashes fluttered, her neck tightened, her chest heaved. She was like something out of a vision, too beautiful to be real, her dark hair tangled behind her head, her bunched up dress as lovely as it had been before. Hawke moaned, an echo of Isabela's own keening sounds of pleasure.  
  
When Isabela stilled and her eyes at last flickered open, Hawke collapsed on top of her, still lazily thrusting inside her, and nuzzled against her shoulder. “You're not done, are you? I mean, we can be done. If you want.”  
  
Isabela took a deep breath, one that Hawke could feel shake her whole body. “What, you're too tired?” There was a slight shake to her voice that countered her assumed bravado.  
  
Hawke smiled against her. “I'm not tired.” She at last pulled out of Isabela, throwing her arm over her waist and pulling her close. “We can stop.”  
  
“Mm, let's go again. And then again. I did promise to tie you up. Just... in a minute.” She sighed contentedly, eyes fluttering shut, and pressed into Hawke. She was warm and soft; they fit together just right, Hawke thought, like this was exactly where they ought to be. She kissed the freckles of Isabela's shoulder with a quiet reverence.  
  
“A minute,” Hawke agreed. After a moment, she spoke again. “You know, I should probably text Aveline our apologies.”  
  
“I wouldn't bother.” Isabela rolled over, tugging Hawke with her, until Hawke straddled her waist again. She caught Hawke's hands and drew them across her body. “I'm sure she knows exactly what we're doing.”

**Author's Note:**

> bonus epilogue: Aveline did not in fact know exactly what they were doing and after multiple hours without a single text from either, she got worried and sent two uniformed officers to make sure they were alive. she was only a little bit apologetic when she had to replace their kicked-in door.


End file.
